What a delightful Friday afternoon it had been.
Oot for a belated birthday lunch with my loon and his wife, to Cafe Boheme to take advantage of Foodie Fortnight.
That wonderful French decor; delish lobster bisque and a cod concoction with a gooey poached egg. Mo was an affa happy, if older, bunny, until … she tried to get a bussie home.
Peched up Windmill Brae to the stop just up from, and opposite, the Music Hall. Long queue. According to the screen, my 13 was just a few minties awa’.
Two double deckers arrived at the stop and started taking on some of the queue. Then my bus arrived at the back of the two of them.
Fit tae die? Hobble doon pronto to get on before the other bussies moved? Or wait for it to get to the stop? As I pondered, I spotted it pulling oot and off: “Jings, he’s nae hingin’ aboot,” mused I.
As fast as my al’ leggies could cairry me, I off and stepped oot in front to the first double-decker, waving doon my 13 driver with my stick as he overtook the two. There was loadsa space for him to draw in to the pavement in front of the stop. And he sure as hell saw me waving. So fit happened? The sod just drove on. Man, I was furious.
With another 20 minutes to wait, I decided to carry on up Union Street to Holburn Junction, consoling masellie it was my exercise for the day. But still seethin’ about that ruddy driver. Would he have stopped for his mum or grunnie, I wonder?
Screen said five minutes until my 13. Screen was wrong. It didnae turn up ava’ and
disappeared off the radar. My lovely afternoon was ga’an fae bad to worse.
First bus driver left me so mad I had to shake my stick
Ended up getting a 23 and mair exercise home. As I went to take in my bin, I met my neighbour headin’ for the bus into toon.
Started telling him what had happened with my rogue driver when his bussie appeared and he trotted off for it. Then it occurred to me. Could this be the same goon at the wheel on his return journey?
So I waited and watched as he passed. Gotcha! Exactly the same thoughtless chiel. I was so suprised, I hadnae the presence of mind to wave my stick at him again, as if to say: “I hinna forgotten you, sunshine!”
If I’d actually been at the bus stop, I’d have got on and given him a piece of my mind. When I eventually got home, came a text from my loon – who’d also taken a bus – saying they’d just got in. And they live in Culter!
But that’s nae the end of my unlucky 13 bus saga. A couple of days later, folk at the EE passed on an email they’d been sent for me. From this reader who was actually on the wayward bus, recognised me and saw the whole thing. Even clocked the time, 3.26pm, and got the number of the bus. What a hero is that?
He confirmed it had stopped briefly behind the two double deckers, then overtook them and sailed on past stick-waving Mo. He said passengers are supposed to stay at the stop when their bus can’t get there, and wait for other buses to clear so it can draw in to pick them up.
My helpful gadgie suggested I should complain to First. Will do, mister. Thanks a million for being such a brilliant eye-witness to my plight.
Watch this space for a reply from First; hopefully an apology, and information on what exactly passengers should do if the bus can’t get to the stop.
Moreen Simpson is a former assistant editor of the Evening Express and The Press and Journal and started her journalism career in 1970.
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